


Good Old-Fashioned Christmas Fun (Or How To Steal Trees and Influence Moonys)

by thursdayschild



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Teenage Feelings, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era, One Shot, Shoebox Project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayschild/pseuds/thursdayschild
Summary: James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter take it upon themselves to insure that Gryffindor Tower is properly festive for Christmas, which, of course, requires the biggest Christmas tree imaginable and breaking as many rules as possible.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set around their sixth year and vaguely riffing on the Shoebox Project.

“I don’t think-,” Remus began, tugging anxiously at a loose thread on his cuff.

“Yes, you do,” James interrupted. “And it is _precisely_ your problem.”

“What?"

“What he means, Moony old chap,” Sirius explained, throwing an arm around Remus’s shoulder, “is that you think far too much and it’s holding you back from having some good old-fashioned Christmas fun.”

“Like breaking the rules?” Remus asked, raising his eyebrows and shrugged Sirius off.

“Exactly,” crowded James, cuffing Remus around the shoulders. “Now you’re getting it!”

“I think I might be with Moony on this one,” Peter said as they stopped just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The quartet peered up at the snow-covered trees, branches creaking quietly in the cold wind. The sun had already sunk behind the horizon and they couldn’t see more than a handful of meters into the forest.

“Come on, then,” said James in that tone that meant he intended to Get Things Done.

He tugged the cloak from his bag and shook it out. It didn’t cover them all the way it once had, but, in the semi-darkness, who would spot a few feet wandering between the trees.

“What about our footprints?” asked Peter as James herded them together.

James rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand.

“Magic, Peter,” he said, wiggling his fingers for effect as if talking to a Muggle.

Peter rolled his eyes back and pressed together with his friends, each one attempting to tug the cloak as far down himself as possible.

“Onward!” Sirius declared, lighting his wand tip and leading the way into the forest.

They moved slowly, Sirius at the head of the party lighting the way, James at the back obliterating their tracks, and Remus and Peter squashed together in the middle. They wandered through the trees, Sirius casting his wand light over various evergreens, but shaking his head at each one and pressing on. After a quarter of an hour, Remus was shivering, despite being pressed tightly between Sirius and Peter.

“Come on, Pads,” he moaned. “We must have passed a dozen trees by now that would do.”

“No,” Sirius insisted, almost petulantly. “We’ve got the find the perfect one. Gryffindor honor!”

“Gryffindor honor!” echoed James and Peter, dutifully.

“We’re half the population of the tower for the next couple weeks. It’s up to us to make Christmas happen,” Sirius said with an almost solemn determination.

“I think it’s mostly up to Dumbledore,” Remus muttered.

“Hush.”

It had been nearly half an hour before Sirius stopped at last.

“Yes,” he said, in a hushed, nearly reverent tone.

James tugged off the cloak and they stood in a row in front of the enormous fur.

“We can never move this,” Remus pointed out.

“Will it even fit past the Fat Lady?” asked Peter.

“Magic,” James said again. “Magic and a little Christmas faith.”

Remus shook his head, but he knew the gleam in Sirius’s eye far too well to try to stop him now.

“Come on, light up,” Sirius told Peter, who cast another light.

“So how do you want to do this?” James asked him.

“Me? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“If anyone’s the smart one, it’s definitely Moony.”

They all turned to Remus, who started back at them blankly.

“What?”

“Well, how do we do this?”

“Um,” Remus began. “Well, Muggles use a saw.”

“And have you brought a saw?” James asked Sirius.

“I don’t know about Muggles.”

“There’s got to be some spell,” Peter muttered, peering at the base of the tree.

“I could try…” Remus began doubtfully.

“Do it! Do it!” his friends cried at once.

“Alright, but stand back.”

Remus frowned in concentration, pointed his wand at the base of the tree, and murmured under his breath. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the mighty fur came crashing down to the snowy earth, nearly crushing Peter, who had stepped in rather the wrong direction. They all started in shock for a moment, before they burst into cheers and laughter.

“I don’t think it’s going to fit under the cloak, though.”

* * *

 

James did not appreciate Peter’s plan. Remus thought it was rather brilliant, especially coming from Peter, but Sirius told him that he only liked it because it involved him getting to keep all of his clothes on. Still, Remus and Peter assured them that the Stag and bear-like dog looked rather majestic tugging the tree across the snowy ground with Remus’s conjured ropes.

Of course, it turned out that getting the tree to the castle had been the easy part. The doors were large enough, but once they were gathered in the entry hall they realized they were rather out of plan. Remus stood guard while James and Sirius transformed and dressed behind the shelter of the tree and Peter waited down the hall, ready to invent some crisis should a teacher approach. After that, it took a lot of struggle, more conjured rope, and careful sweet-talking from James and Sirius to get the tree up to the tower. Thankful, their frequent late-night escapades had granted them quite the rapport with the Fat Lady and she approved of the tree greatly.

It was late-heading-towards-early by the time they managed it and the handful of other Gryffindors staying over the holidays were already in bed. Remus and Sirius carried the record player down to the common room and Remus found a quiet Christmas album to play as they decorated with conjured tinsel and anything shiny they could find around the tower or on a brief scavenging trip out into the rest of the castle.

When the stepped back, the tree was gleaming with magical snow, bright ornaments, and an assortment of old silverware they’d found inside the overstuffed couches. Tinsel hung in clumps, clinging to branches and boys alike, and magical candles shown from previously dark corners. The top of the massive tree was pressed flat against the ceiling and they had used a sticking charm to affix a gold bust of Godric Gryffindor to it as best they could.

“Well done, mates,” James said, grinning around at them.

They all beamed back, imagining the looks on the faces their fellows when they came downstairs the next morning.

“I think I’m for bed,” Peter said after a moment.

“Me as well,” James agreed. “Coming?” he asked the others.

“In a minute,” Sirius told him, catching the look on Remus’s face.

James shrugged and he and Peter headed up the stairs with waves and calls of “goodnight.”

Sirius turned to Remus, suddenly more still and careful than he had been a moment before.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

Remus gave a half shrug and rubbed at his shoulder. The moon was waxing and he could feel its peak approaching already, pulling at his bones and making his muscles ache.

“At least it’s over the holidays, eh? Don’t have to miss class. You hate that.” He gave his friend a playful nudge with his elbow.

Remus only nodded.

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at their decorations.

“Damn impressive magic with the tree.”

“Thanks.”

Sirius fidgeted for a moment, trying to translate emotions to words. He was tied up in adolescent confusion as the holidays pulled him towards troubled childhood memories of false cheer and his companion’s pain pulled him towards adult imaginings of what could only be a dark future.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he said at last, voice almost pleading as if he could convince the world to make things easier if just for the holiday.

Remus nodded again.

“We should get to bed,” he muttered.

“Right.”

But still they stood in silence.

“Looks like James found some mistletoe for when Lily gets back,” Remus noted.

Sirius let out an awkward half-laugh.

“Remind me to hex him when I end up having to snog Wormtail again.”

Remus smiled slightly and turned towards the stairs. Halfway there he stopped and looked back towards their tree. Lit by the dying fire, his pale skin looked warmer and healthier than Sirius knew it was. His eyes reflected the light and Sirius was struck by how lovely he looked. His robes were worn and dirty and Sirius spotted a twig from the forest caught in the frayed hem. His hair was mussed from a long day of running his fingers through it in anxiety, frustration, and awkwardness. He looked, frankly, like nothing much, but Sirius saw past it all to what lay underneath. And not what Remus saw underneath. Not the creature or the curse or the monster. He saw a soul brighter than their magical candles, purer than the snow that fell past the windows, more intricate than any of the tapestries that adorned the tower walls.

Sirius's eyes flicked up and he saw exactly where Remus had, for whatever reason, paused. Before he could change his mind, he took a few long strides and was standing in front of Remus. He saw him start to open his mouth, to question closeness and affection, to doubt friendship and sincerity, but Sirius moved before he could and before he himself could backpedal and fall into regret and what-if’s.

He leaned in and kissed Remus, swiftly and little clumsily, on the lips.

“Happy Christmas, mate,” he muttered, flushing deeply, before he darted past his stunned friend and vanished up the stairs in a rush.

Remus stood alone in the common room, frozen and silent. Their decorations twinkled softly in the dying firelight and the glow of their magical candles. He gazed around at it all and then slowly looked up. He stood, entirely by accident, directly under James’s mistletoe. It could, he supposed, have been that sort of kiss. The sort that was done because plant-life demanded it and that involved a lot of spitting and fighting afterwards. But he doubted it. In fact, Remus suspected that maybe, just maybe, Sirius would have kissed no matter where he'd been standing.

He turned again to the stairs, wondering what tomorrow might bring and what, if anything, the kiss might have changed.

“Happy Christmas,” he murmured to he knew not who and went up to bed.


End file.
